The Umbrellas of Cherbourg

Last night some friends and I went to see Les Parapluies de Cherbourg, otherwise known as The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. I've been raving about it for years, so it wasn't difficult to convince people to see it at the Paramount, a grand old theater downtown.

The film is interesting for several reasons. First, it's an operetta. That is, all the dialogue is sung, as opposed to musicals, where songs interupt spoken dialogue and the whole thing is trite and annoying. I don't care for musicals for the most part, but when the first few lines of a movie sung in French are about car repair, I'll make an exception.

Second, the female lead ends up pregnant out-of-wedlock at 17, and yet she is not scorned for it. Her mother even jokes about it. Either mores in 1964 France were less strict than I expected or writer/director Jacques Demy was a bit ahead of his time.

Third, the intense color in the set design and costumes. The film was rereleased in 1994 with the original, sumptuous color restored and it's gorgeous. Pink and green striped wallpaper? Absolutely.

Lastly, the film stars Catherine Deneuve and Nino Castelnuovo. Dang they are nice to look at in quite a different way than the previously mentioned wallpaper. Also, I love hearing the characters sing their names Geneviève (zjawn-VEEV) and Guy (GEE).

In reading about the film, I discovered that none of the lead or main supporting characters actually sang for the soundtrack. Geneviève's voice is not Deneuve, but rather Danielle Licari, a popular singer at the time. Other characters voices are listed here. I never would have guessed. Demy did a great job casting voices that matched the physicality of the actors.

The film is a dated of course and at times, laughable to our contemporary sensibilities--the scene where Geneviève and Guy "float" down the street had the Paramount audience giggling--and yet it's observation of first love is entirely relevant to a modern audience.

I highly recommend seeing The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (it's available on DVD). You'll likely be humming the bittersweet theme song for days after.

Last days in VT & NH

The impetus for this whole trip was Dad wanting me to see where he grew up and where my antecedents are buried. On Monday, Dad took me on a tour of family homes and graveyards. I was game for it, but wasn't expecting the many hours of driving and walking around what is actually a smallish town, St. Albans.

Things would have been a whole lot simpler if my grandparents had stayed in one place, but my grandmother in particular continuously moved Dad and my two aunts from house to house. During the three years my grandfather was serving in WWII, they moved roughly ten times. Argh.

Still, it was cool to see where my father and his parents grew up and to realize that I come from farmer stock only three generations back.

Speaking of, here's a typical small Vermont dairy farm:



The cows are on the other side of the buildings.

It was too calm to sail on Lake Champlain, but I did get to see the lake weed harvester at work.



On Tuesday morning, we got up early so we could drive North to the border before heading for the airport. I've never been to Canada and there was my chance, not 20 minutes away. My father fumbled a bit in his explanation to the Canadian authorities, who became suspicious of why a Florida resident would be taking his Texas-residing son across the border just for the hell of it. Dad tried again and we were off into Southern Quebec.

Since it was so close, we went to the church graveyard where my great-great grandparents are buried. Le cri dehors à Moise et à Delima, grands vous lève tout.

Hmm, that was supposed to say "Shout-out to Moise and Delima, big ups y'all." I think I like Google Translate's version better, "The cry outside with Moise and Delima, large picks you up all."

After a few minutes, and an amusing scene where a mother called her mullet-ed son home in French (but of course!), we headed back to the US. The border patrol on the US side was friendly and casual as he let us through. My dad nicely asked him about his almost blase manner, to which he responded, "Hey, you're US citizens. I'm border patrol, not customs." How droll.

Several hours of driving later, Dad dropped me off at the Manchester, NH airport for the return flight.

CT/MA/VT Day

Today my Dad and I drove from Southern Connecticut, through Massachusetts, to Northern Vermont. Despite travelling the length of three states, it was still a shorter trip than if I were to leave Austin to exit Texas any direction but due East towards Louisiana. All I'm saying is, I live in a big-ass state and New England people who complain about distances have a very skewed perspective.

Dad was all giddy about showing me how his laptop could be hooked up to a GPS unit. Terribly geeky and quite useful if lost.

It was on the way and I was curious, so Dad and I stopped at the Mark Twain House in Hartford, CT. It's incredible; huge rooms, luxurious amenities for the time, and interiors by Tiffany and other Associated Artists.



Built in 1873, it was a technological marvel for the time with central heat, flushing toilets, and a telephone. The tour is fascinating and ends in Sam Clemens' billiard room where he also wrote. When the guide pointed out the table at which he wrote Adventures of Huckleberry Finn among other works, I teared up a little bit. No cameras are allowed inside, though you can see pictures at this floorplan.

The museum on the grounds had an exhibit of Clemens' library. He often wrote in the margins of his books, typically scathing commentary. An example:



It reads (with Clemens' comments in brackets), Plutarch's Lives of Illustrious Men translated from the Greek [into rotten English] by John Dryden , the whole carefully revised and corrected [by an ass]. The note on the left reads, "When you come across the pronouns he and him in this slovenly book, you will never know to whom they refer. But never mind—-neither does God."

Here's a hilarious quote regarding Jane Austen:



There's a treasure trove of great quotes, including a few more about Austen.

After that, we drove almost straight through to St. Albans, VT. Along the way, my father regaled me with voluminous description of Vermont and its problems as he sees it, which includes few job opportunities, stodgy farmers opposed to everything, and extreme naivete about the rest of the country. Dad told me about guys that are proud they have never been out of the state their whole lives. Yeesh.

Vermont, much like Arkansas, is incredibly green and beautiful; then there's the people. The majority of the population falls into three categories: dirty hippy Phish-heads, dairy farmers, and what my father refers to as "New England hillbillies". I am exaggerating a bit of course, there's also nine Black people.

The small towns in Western Connecticut and Massachusetts are almost unbearably charming, rather like Gilmore Girls' fictional town Stars Hollow. Cross the border into Vermont and you immediate see trailer homes. My father chalks it up to a lack of taste and pride. I suspect it has to do with economics.

My favorite Dad rant was about the coalition of "I'm aginit" farmers and nature-lovers opposed to putting wind turbines on the hilltops. "It will ruin the view", they say. This is a state that cares very much for "the view". There are no billboards in Vermont. It's really wonderful until one runs up into the reality of energy production. I was close to writing a sarcastic letter to the editor noting my sadness that "the view", while free of wind turbines, would soon be obscured by clouds of smoke from coal and wood fires.

CT Day 1: Goodbye NYC, hello family

After sleeping in and shaking my illness, I finally got up and bid goodbye to Brad & Anja


(Anja's dress is actually green, thanks new camera color-swap function!)

and Virgil, the bestest dog ever.



Then I was off to my Aunt & Uncle's house in Southern Connecticut. Through sheer coicidence, I planned my trip so that I would be at their house on my Uncle Robert's birthday. Three of my cousins were there too and my dad drove down as well. It was a blast as usual. My cousins are loud and argumentative, so we get along famously.

We covered a range of topics: the tragedy that is this Presidential administration, how incredibly liberal/progressive and therefore naive they believe me to be (anti-Walmartization, anti-border patrol vigilanteism), various misbehaviors in which my cousins engaged.

The last was aptly illustrated by Bobby, who related the time that he and his brother Buddy were rough-housing and broke their bunk beds. As punishment, my Aunt tied them to their beds (shades of Joan Crawford). Though, it was with silk scarves. So all things considered, not that bad.

After many beers, and an extended conversation on the oddity of our dead relative's names (Urgel, Alcide, Delima, Moise), my cousins went home and I went to bed.

NYC Day 3: Superhero supplies, bad art, and a great meal with friends

Didn't get much done today either. Lunch with my friend Jay at Patsy's, a venerable pizza place that only takes cash. What's up with that? I realize that businesses actually lose a transaction fee when they take credit cards, but cash only? That's just haughty. Good pizza though.

Next I went to Brooklyn Superhero Supply, a deeply cool store that supports the fantastic work of 826 NYC.





Yes, they have a Capery. You don a potential cape and stand on an elevated platform as a wind machine blows. It's just friggin' brilliant. If I was kid, this store would be heaven. More photos here.

Just enough time to get out to PS1 before it closed. Having never been on my previous trips to NYC, I was excited about seeing the building and a show of new works. Building? Cool. Show? Meh. Waaaay too many poorly executed video installations, though there were a couple I liked. There was an overall lack of craft and technique in the show. I love modern, abstract art, but please kids, don't just glue a bunch of crap together (or melt glass bottles and feathers into a slag heap) and expect me to be impressed.

Dinner with Jay and his fiance Jasmine, who is warm and lovely, at a sushi place. Yummy, crunchy, fiery, with green tea mochi to top it off. Wonderful. Except I felt the imminent signs of illness coming on: fever, body aches, a scratchy throat.

Back to Brad & Anja's for roughly 11 hours of sleep.

NYC Day 2: Margaritas, filthy jokes, and fake lesbians

Got up very late today. I realize now that while working a bunch of overtime right before a vacation provides funds to purchase a wonderful camera, it also leaves one exhausted during said vacation. Oh well.

Went downtown for some Mexican food with my great friend and host Brad. I know it's a bit silly to be in NYC and go out for Mexican when I live in Texas, but Brad was craving it and I have to admit that the strawberry margaritas were incredible. Already tipsy, we bought a Sparks* and went to see "The Aristocrats".

Conceived by comedian Paul Provenza and magician Penn Jilette, it is a feature-length film about one joke, but oh what a joke. It's actually rather lame in set-up and punchline, but the magic comes in the middle section where the teller is free to improvise, the more obscene and vile the better. The comedians in the film by turns tell their own version and dissect it, getting at the heart of why it's lasted so long as a right-of-passage for comics.

Aside from the sheer gall of the comics, what I am most impressed by is the editing. Emery Emery and Paul Provenza have taken a huge amount of footage (amateurishly shot and unevenly lit) and constructed it into a cohesive film. Every time it starts to get bogged down by the umpteenth telling of the joke, they move on to someone who provides a new context or insight into the nature of humor. Really great pacing.

After the movie, we went to a bar that coincidentally had an exhibit of Mark Mothersbaugh (Devo) art.



Two other examples here and here.

At the bar we proceeded to drink more and hang out with people we did not know. They were okay until the girls started making out as a birthday present for one of the guys. Sigh. I offered that the guys should then make out for the girls but only Brad laughed. Soon after we headed home.

* In case you were wondering, Sparks tastes like Nerds candy and keeps you buzzed quite nicely.

NYC Day 1: the city, Devo, and short guys

Today I flew into New York City on the first day of my trip East. I've been to New York many times and I always feel a rush as the plane approaches LaGuardia Airport. Coming in from the South, the flightpath looks like it will take me right over Manhattan. Just as it reaches the island though, the plane banks around to the West and then North, circling Manhattan and Queens, offering a overture of the streets I'll walk soon. I love NYC.

It took a bus and two subway transfers to get me to my friend Brad's office in Manhattan, and it was a pleasure. It reminds me again that I've got to move to a city with a good public transportation system. So much better than driving and parking. Dropped my bags off with Brad, ate a quick dinner, and then walked to the Hammerstein Ballroom to see Devo.

I've been a Devo fan for a long time and this was to be first time seeing them live. They didn't disappoint. Sure they were grayer and fatter, but damn they sounded great. There should be a setlist here soon.

I didn't take my camera as the venue and tickets make it perfectly clear that they weren't allowed. And then there were many people snapping away during the show. I hate when this happens. All I ask for is consistency. Anyway, this set of photos is from the show. After a few songs, Mark Mothersbaugh started ripping pieces of the radiation suits off his bandmates during a song. They then discarded them playing the rest of the show in these outfits.

I was pleased to see a mix of ages at the show. Devo-aged dorks, 30-ish dweebs, and collegiate geeks were all represented. Also, there were women. It leads me to think that Devo is safely ensconced in the canon, though I really wish the greater populace would know them for music beyond "Whip It".

After about 50 minutes of playing, their drummer Josh Freese somehow injured a finger on his left hand. I suspect he either jammed it or dislocated it given that his drum tech ran out and taped two fingers together. He gamely finished the song and one more before the band left the stage. After he was more thoroughly taped up, they returned for several more songs with Josh pulling a Rick Allen. What a trooper. I suspect the show was cut a little short due to his injury, but they finished well with "Gut Feeling/Slap Your Mammy". For another take on the show, read this guy's account.

With a smile plastered across my face, I hustled over to Nowhere Bar for Runt. Hosted by David Yarritu and Stephen Merritt (Magnetic Fields, et al), it's an attempt, in Stephin's words, "to fetishize short people. And this is a particularly good place for it because the ceilings are so low." When you walk in, Stephin slaps a nametag on you pre-printed with your height.

Initially I was wary that I would be crashing the party as I'm 6' tall, but I was assured that everyone was welcome. I wasn't out of place at all. From the look of it, the average height was 5'8". Hung out for a bit chatting with friends and scored this t-shirt from Mr. Merritt:



I'll have to be careful where I wear that shirt. Although, considering that I was propositioned by female prostitutes twice on my way to Runt, I should probably start wearing similar shirts more often.


Technorati tags: Devo, Runt, hookers with impaired gaydar

Last day at the hospital, for now

My last day of work at the hospital was uneventful. Following the recommendation of my co-workers, I slacked off a bit and chatted with everyone. I didn't have charged batteries for my brand-new camera, so I didn't take pictures. I'll come back after my vacation and take some late at night when others aren't paying attention.

While others were melancholy over my leaving, I was jubilant. Sure I'll miss the money, but having a vacation before school starts again is going to be great. I'll be back next Spring anyway.

I'll miss:

- Learning something new almost every day
- The dark humor of my co-workers
- Leaving on cool, starry nights after a long day
- The focus and energy when a serious case comes in

I won't miss:

- Patients in the waiting room asking every 15 minutes how long before they are seen
- Ill-conceived managerial projects
- Off-kilter sleep patterns
- The smell of infected feet

Taser prong stuck in his head

That's about it really.


Technorati tags: Taser, stuck, head

Sadness in The Real World

Kids, please stopping shuttling back and forth from your house to 6th St. I beg of you. There are sooo many places at which to eat better than Paradiso. Better at which to drink than The Dizzy Rooster (though you will have to actually pay for your drinks). The camera person running aroung town grabbing shots of the 360 Bridge, the giant Austin postcard mural, and Barton Springs for B-roll is seeing Austin at its best. Follow her (or him).

The only time you seem to leave the east side of downtown is for your documentary production meetings. So hop on a bus.

Speaking of the documentary, it's weird to see SXSW staffers that I've known for years on MTV. Hey there Elizabeth, Leslie, Brent, and other person I didn't get a good look at.

*****

All that talk about skipping through all the house drama went out the window for this week's episode. On Valentine's Day, Danny gets a call from his father that his mother died. Just horrible. I have to commend the rest of the kids for being decent and not saying anything dumb.

From the looks of the preview for next week, B/M Prod just had to intrude on the Jamieson family's grief. Bastards. Leave the kid alone.

I suppose it's not much of a spoiler to say that despite the previews, Danny doesn't leave Austin for good.


Technorati tags: Real World Austin, the real Austin, grief

Augusten Burroughs sued

A favorite writer of mine, Augusten Burroughs is being sued by the family portrayed in his hilarious yet disturbing memoir Running with Scissors.

Sent by his mother to live with her psychiatrist's family, Burroughs time with the Turcottes (identified as the Finch family in the book) was both nightmarish and great fun. The Turcottes are claiming that parts of the book are fictional and have filed suit accusing Burroughs of defamation, infliction of emotional distress, etc. The family has included St. Martin's Press, the publisher of the book, in the lawsuit but not Plan B (Brad Pitt's company) which is producing the movie adaptation due in 2006.

The timing of the lawsuit is curious. The book was published in 2002 and became a best-seller quickly. Why wait till now? Will Plan B and Sony Pictures (the distributor) be sued as well?

I interviewed Augusten Burroughs last year for an article which I talk about here. I highly recommend Running with Scissors and his second memoir on getting sober Dry.


Technorati tags: Augusten Burroughs

Dorkout!

How dorky is it that I just used the screen of my iBook as a flashlight to creep downstairs for a sandwich?

Mm, I suspected as much.

Grand mal or la petite morte?

An incident from my time at the hospital:

EMS gets a call that an elderly man has had a seizure and is now unconscious. When they get to the scene the man's wife is freaking out. With a little effort, but the paramedic rouses the old guy. He's fine. Turns out he and his wife were having sex for the first time in 15 years - thanks to Viagra or Cialis I assume - then he sat up too quickly and briefly passed out. Even after a decade and a half, it still seems like his wife should be able to tell the difference between a seizure and an orgasm.

Two weeks left to gather material

In an interesting development since this post, I've been denied the shift change I requested. I was told that they had no more slots for PRNs (as needed employees) and that I'd have to stay full-time or commit to a part-time schedule which would probably interfere with my schoolwork. So, I put in my two weeks notice today.

Apparently, management would rather lose me completely than have me drop down to working a shift or two a week. This is especially curious given that they're chronically under-staffed - especially on weekends, which is exactly when I'd be picking up shifts - and some of the current PRN staff barely work now. Their boneheadedness in essentially demanding to have me on their terms or not at all was a shock at first. Upon further reflection, this type of nose-cutting, face-spiteing is in line with past conduct.

Maybe they were playing hardball thinking I'd crack, the naive imbeciles. I have a long history of standing up for myself at work and loudly pointing out the flaws of management. School, of course, takes precedence and this job was originally to be a summer job only, so it's no great loss. I feel worse for my co-workers who will have to work that much harder in my absence.

My fellow employees have made me feel practically sunny about all this. Being sorely missed and roundly praised will do that. It's also gratifying to have everyone hop on the "friggin' morons!" bandwagon. I'm thinking of collecting all the employee criticism, demanding an exit interview with the manager that decided to lose me, and taking her down a peg or two.

In my resignation letter, I left the managers a way out. After several paragraphs laying out my arguments, I concluded with,

"I trust that you can see the wisdom of keeping me on a PRN basis and will happily rescind my resignation should you reach that conclusion."

Gee but I love writing stuff like that. Unfortunately, management seems to have a Dubya-like inability to admit mistakes and so I expect the reply will be something along the lines of, "So long and don't let the door hit ya on the way out."

Oh well, life moves on.

Night of Lacerations

We had a Night of Lacerations recently in the ER. I was working in the Pediatric area. It's a bit more complicated when the kids come in because they have a hard reconciling "sewing your head closed is a good thing" with "AAGH! Needle in my head!!" Sometimes the kids are really good and just sit there with wide eyes. Other times they scream their little heads off.

One night there was a boy about eight who was quite accomplished at delaying the proceedings. After the doctor calmly explained that she was going to deaden the area, he had lots of questions. Why was this necessary again? Are you absolutely sure that needles must be involved? What are your qualifications to make this judgement?

Despite his tactics, the needle eventually went in and he was stitched up. There was some shrieking, though he saved the best for last. Afterwards, when the doctor asked him how he was, he narrowed his eyes, shot her a look of pure hate, and tossed his head contemptuously.

Another time, a kid of about six had a nice gash between her eyes. It was deep, so the plastics doctor was called in to do it. They did a conscious sedation on the little girl. The patient is still able to communicate, but there's no pain and often no memory of the procedure.

I had it when my wisdom teeth were removed. I have only one brief memory, "waking up" and seeing spatters of blood on the face guards of the people around me. I distinctly remember thinking, "Oh. Not done yet. Okay, back to sleep," before sinking back into amnesia. I'd love a videotape of the procedure. My teeth were still mostly covered by my gums so I presume they had lots of cutting and teeth cracking to remove them. I do have two polaroids of myself spitting out a mouthful of blood when I got home. So there's that.

Anyway, when kids are likely to fight back (something that can still happen with conscious sedation), they get strapped down. The door to her treatment room was closed, but you could hear her screaming all the way down the hall. Seriously, you'd think they were torturing her in there.

The mom had to leave and sat in the hall with tears in her eyes. I and a fellow employee felt much worse for the mom. The kid was just scared and being ornery; she was pain-free and likely to forget the whole experience. The mom had to see and listen to her daughter freaking out.


Technorati tags: Laceration, conscious sedation, screaming children

Vacation, all I ever wanted

Yesterday I put in my notice at work that I would be going PRN in a few weeks. PRN is is an acronym for pro re nata, or "as needed." Rather than work a fixed schedule, I'll sign up for shifts that need more staff. As the school semester starts in late August and there isn't any benefit to me working a fixed part-time schedule, it just makes sense. It does mean that I won't be putting in anywhere near the hours I did this summer, hence less stories to share in this space. Luckily, I have a backlog. The well is far from dry.

My boss hasn't actually acknowledged my notice, which certainly could get awkward in a few weeks when I stop showing up for work. We'll see about that today. All my work friends know and are generally supportive, though there is the requisite whining about losing a person who does the work quickly and correctly. To which I say, "Suck it bitchbags!" No, I like my work friends and am a little sad that I won't see them as much.

The decision to sort-of quit has been brewing for a couple weeks now. Some of the managerial boneheadedness was beginning to chafe, as it always does several months into a new job. I need to have a summer vacation before I hit the books again, so it's Devo in New York, my Dad's home town, The Shockwave, and Boogie Bahn for me.

Oh, and here's a great quote from a patient,

"I'm not usually a paranoid person when I do drugs. Maybe they're putting something in the drugs."


Technorati tags: (Sort-of) quitting, vacation, drug paranoia

Well that took a turn for the bittersweet

Monday and Tuesday were again hella-busy. Is hella old enough to be nostalgic for? Probably not.

As opposed to last Monday, this week I was well-rested and maintained a chipper, can-do attitude despite the constant stream of incoming ambulances to the "crash" area of the ER. I kept my head above water with my work and managed to stay out of the medical staff's way. My co-workers are happy to leave me to it and I really enjoy handling all the details. Nothing unusual so far this week, a few ODs, several car or motorcycle accidents, and lots of chest pain.

The one great bit tonight was the long conversation I had with a patient who'd recently moved to Austin from Chicago. She was disappointed in Austin so far. The night she went to see the bats fly out, they stayed underneath the bridge. A restaurant that was recommended to her turned out to be terrible. Then there's the oppressive summer heat.

Of course I defended my hometown. The bats won't come out if rain is a strong possibility since the bugs they eat won't be out either. There are lots of great places to eat, and the restaurant she went to isn't one of them. As for the heat, well that's what A/C and Barton Springs is for.

It was a fortuitous meeting since I currently plan to move to Chicago a few months after I graduate school. One of the reasons I'm becoming a nurse is so I can move about the country and world experiencing life in different places. Chicago is at the top of my list because I already have friends there, there's lots to do, and I think the professional experience will be gratifying. The harsh winters will just have to be endured. After that there will be Hawaii, Toronto, London, New Zealand, China, Ecuador, New York, et cetera.

In a way, it seems ludicrous that I would leave Austin. I have it so good here; lots of friends and family, relatively cheap entertainment, a socially progressive populace, and a profound sense of comfort. It's incredibly easy to get stuck in the velvet rut that is Austin, just contentedly drifting along.

Austin will always be where my heart lives and I'll come back to visit often, but by the time I get out of school, it will be time to move on.


Technorati tags: Congress Bridge bats, heat, velvet rut, I'll leave my heart in Austin

A few short quotes to amuse and edify

Drunk guy, "I've been blacking out for years, but right now I'm off my anti-blacking-out medication."

Psychiatric patient, "Go ahead and take my blood. It's as pure as white cake!"

Patient with back pain, "Can I have something to eat? Like a pain killer?"

Open letter to a father who brought his son to the ER

Dear Sir,

I'm trying to imagine the circumstances under which your 10-year-old received multiple ant bites on his penis. Enlighten me.

Thanks so much,
St. Murse

Come one, come all. Apparently by ambulance.

Last night, work was ugly. Not only was I tired going in, but we were slammed. Last week Austin-area hospitals ended the long-standing practice of going on diversion, which meant that when they were close to being full, ambulances were diverted to other hospitals. EMS hated it because it made for longer rides, less availability, and patient's directives on where they wanted to be treated were often overruled.

Starting last Tuesday, the hospitals agreed to accept all ambulance traffic unless they have some sort of major internal problem. Practically it means that the hospitals have to quickly treat and discharge those patients who aren't serious, and make room for those who are.

As I've noted before, many people come to the ER for fairly minor problems that should be seen by a primary-care doctor or community clinic. Unfortunately, the medical system in the US is not set up to adequately care for us all, so these people come to the emergency room.

Like many hosptials throughout the country, we have a fast track area where patients are seen quickly, often by a nurse practitioner or physician's assistant rather than a doctor, for minor problems. These are the people for whom the phrase "treat 'em and street 'em" was coined. Last night, in our crush of business, the wait for even the fast-track area was roughly five hours.

In light of the volume of patients, the medical staff were pushing hard. Not only were fast track patients were being shuttled through quickly, but the regular treatment areas were on overdrive, meaning that I and the rest of the registration staff had to step it up as well. Pair being understaffed with more ambulance-delivered patients than I've ever seen, and it made for an exhausting evening.

I could go on about an incident of childish behavior by a manager of my department, but I'll spare you the ugly, yet mundane details. Suffice to say, due to my growing annoyance at occurrences, I may be going part-time sooner than I had planned.

Mondays are always the busiest day of my week and it's likely to improve, so I will endeavor to regain my usual attitude; sunny, yet archly cynical. Maybe I should stop listening to The Sundays right now and switch to Banarama's "Cruel Summer" which is also sunny, yet archly cynical.


Technorati tags: EMS diversion, "Cruel Summer"

Demetri Martin is a funny, funny man

Demetri Martin had a great show last night at Emo's at a taping for his first comedy album. About a third of the material I've heard before on his talk show appearances and Comedy Central special, but funny is funny and he killed. Demetri is a former writer on Late Night with Conan O'Brien and a great comedian.

I was surprised by the turnout, the inside room at Emo's was packed. I guess the postcard marketing and/or word-of-mouth worked. Less surprising was the largely hipster crowd, in particular the two Demetri-clones. Seriously, same "gay Beatle" haircut (as Demetri calls it), same lanky build.

The show was marred only by Annoying Forced Laugh Guy who clearly was trying to make an indelible impression for the recording.

My favorite joke of the night was one that bombed. It's a bit of a sleeper.
"There's not much difference between saying I'm sorry and saying I apologize. Unless you're at a funeral. Worse still, my bad."

There are several more tapings in Seattle and San Francisco. I hope the CD comes out well. Here's an NPR profile of him with a link to a few of his jokes.


Technorati tags: Demetri Martin, funny

Quasi-obligatory post about the Real World

I've instituted a policy when it comes to watching The Real World Austin. I'll Tivo it, but I'm fast-forwarding through all scenes in the house. That way, I won't have to watch all the "drama", yet and I can still see where they go in Austin. So far, they haven't ventured more than a mile from their converted warehouse except when they were introduced to their job: making a music documentary about South By Southwest.

It was quite odd to see them sitting in a meeting on the UT Campus with film professor Paul Stekler. I never had him while I was at UT the first time, but I've met him several times since and was interviewed on camera once for a political doc he was making. Thankfully, I didn't end up in the film. The real surprise was when Stekler introduced the cast to their sound tutor Jen Garrison, with whom I worked extensively many years ago at the campus radio station.

During SXSW, I saw the RW kids shooting at the convention center and at a few clubs. At the time, I couldn't imagine why they were taping Enon. I mean, I like them, but they're not what I think of as an MTV hype band. The Real World's first episode did show a bit of footage from the night the cast was at the Enon show so we'll see what ends up in their doc.

Anyway, I was intrigued from a medical standpoint when in the first episode, RWer Danny was punched hard enough to break his cheekbone and cave it in. I just watched the episode where he gets surgery to repair the injury and there was a quick shot of the name of the facility, Surgical Hospital of Austin. It's not a full-service hospital and not one with which I'm familiar.

With minimal effort, I found webpages for Danny's plastic surgeons Dr. Scott Haydon and Dr. Todd Shepler. Despite the surgery, he apparently still has blurry vision in one eye and is suing the guy who punched him.

In addition to that bit of news, The Austin Chronicle published this rather unsubstantial piece today. Not noted was the big No Trepassing signs posted all over the outside of the RW house while the cast was living there. The alley behind the house was closed off as well the few times I passed it.

Why am I expending energy writing about the frickin' Real World? Insomnia baby.


Technorati tags: Real World Austin, Danny's surgery

What's funny when you work in an ER

A few co-workers and I were discussing a patient that had apparently taken off before being discharged. She's a regular in the ER, either as a patient herself or accompanying one of her fellow homeless, drug-using friends. We were talking about how to handle her registration when a nurse well-acquainted with this patient stuck his head in, listened for a moment, and said,

"If she's the last woman on Earth and I'm the last man, that's it. History is over. I'm playing with myself until I die."

Then we all laughed and laughed and laughed. Have I mentioned that a dark sense of humor is practically obligatory when working in an ER?

One time the med staff and I were waiting for EMS to come in with a kid who'd fallen off his skateboard and hit his head. Of course he wasn't wearing a helmet. We were just standing around when one of the Spanish translators came in saying,

"Somebody call me?"

To which the doctor replied, "No, but we might need someone who speaks head trauma a little later."

Then we all laughed and laughed and laughed. Yeah, we're sick bastards.


Technorati tags: Black humor

Loud sounds from near quarters

The other night I experienced an incredible sensation, a mixture of delight and pain the memory of which still makes me smile and wince simultaneously. It was this, an adorable baby shrieking happily. Sure, you've seen cute kids and heard they're high-pitched yelps, but this child and the noises she made are several orders of magnitude greater than I have previously experienced.

Imagine a cherubic face, bright eyes, and a smile that could conceivably turn Karl Rove away from the dark side. This baby was cuter than that. Now imagine a pterodactyl loosing a vicious cry as it drives off a rival suitor. This baby's voice was more ear-piercingly painful. Clearly the child was exhibiting early signs of being a mutant with superpowers.

Another night we were treated to the periodic, stentorian exhortations of a woman off her psychiatric meds. Despite being in a room with a closed door, you could hear her throughout most of the ER. She would go on for 15 minutes or so, then quiet down for a bit before going on another tirade, the main topics of which were God, people bothering her, and the fact that the door to her room was closed. All reasonable topics that could be argued coherently. However, she sounded like this:

"Gaw blah hibba! God friltcha said the door is closed! Abba. Aieeeeee!"

She was also rather uncooperative with the medical staff. When asked to drink some Gatordade, she had been shouting on and off for 6 hours after all, she said in a scandalized voice, "I'm a Christian!" Turns out this was her response to most requests.

I feel for the medical staff. When I have to register a patient like this, I can just write, "Patient is altered, unable to answer questions or sign paperwork," and my work is practically done. The med staff have to persevere in communicating with the patient and treating them. I don't look forward to this part of the job.


Technorati tags: Babies, pterodactyl cry, mentally ill patients

What passes for a July 4th post around here

Over the weekend, I dreaded going to work on Independence Day because of the large potential for fireworks injuries and drunken car accidents. I'm happy to report that July 4th ended with only one minor fireworks-related incident and one drunken assault. Of course there were people who fell off things, had seizures, or didn't take their meds/took an excess of meds to make up for it.

So really, it was a typical day aside from the plethora of flag-themed scrubs on the med staff. Like this:



From a purely design persective, red, white, and blue is an ugly grouping of colors to use in clothing fabric and, consequently, Tommy Hilfiger is vile.

Speaking of vile and flags, if the perennial flag-burning amendment (otherwise known as "bread and circuses while Rome burns") gets out of Congress and goes to the states for ratification, there will be a great market for faux-flags. Completely legal and ready to burn. John Scalzi says and demonstrates the concept better than I ever could.

Can't quite get my head around what is essentially an edit of the First Amendment. "Freedom of Speech. Yes, good idea. Wait, no, but not burning a symbol of that freedom. No, that's so awful that we must take time out to specifically try to prevent it, but ultimately fail because people can just burn reasonable facsimiles thereof." Then again, I'm a bit out of step with a third of the young people who think the First Amendment goes too far. Sigh.

As far as flags-as-a-print-for-scrubs, I prefer the Canadian flag. Simple, immediately recognizable, and just a bit (serrated) edgy. I tried to find a picture of the scrub top sported by one of the Canadian med staff, but Google failed to offer it. Though it did find this and this. Oh Internets, you are so fickle.


Technorati tags: Fireworks injuries, flag-burning, Canadian medical workers slowly taking over

"Now there is some blood involved."

This week I'm working for the first time in the part of the ER where the true emergency patients are seen, like serious car accidents, overdoses, or acute heart problems. Wisely, new staff don't get to work there right away as it can be fast-paced and procedures are a bit more complicated. Also, the bosses don't want you fainting when somebody comes in bloody and missing a bit of their calf from, oh say, a boat propellor slicing it off.

Thankfully, that's not a problem for me. One time I was registering a patient who'd fallen and lacerated his scalp. Head wounds bleed copiously, even when they're not that serious, and this guy's face and hands were covered in dried blood. He was in good spirits and as he signed forms, all I could think about was how special effects guys would kill for that level of garish realism.

It's not for everyone, but I enjoy seeking the variety of patients that come in and am intensely curious to see how treatment is done in the various cases. I'd be totally bummed if my plans to be a trauma/ER nurse were derailed because I was paralyzed by the sight of a close-range gunshot wound rather than galvanized into action.

I've never considered myself an adrenaline junky. I'm not into extreme sports, I don't drive fast, and I've never taunted a large predator with a chair or my buttocks. Now I realize I've just gone a nerdier route to that high. Consuming large amounts of caffeine, rapid-fire high school debate, low-stakes poker, public speaking, spazzing out to a great band, political campaigns, and now, the ER.

Despite my age (we won't get into details, but I'm significantly older than my classmates), I feel like young whippersnapper when I get excited about something, as my friends will agree (with a sigh and a rolling of eyes). I'm pleased that I get that "aw yeah!" feeling about my future vocation.

Speaking of getting the juices flowing, today I saw a Liston bone cutter, though not in action.



Guys, doesn't that make your balls suck up into your body cavity a little bit? Ladies, I have no idea what the correlative experience is, please enlighten me.


Technorati tags: blood, adrenaline, bone cutter

A study in contrasts

Pulled another loooong shift at the hospital. First time on a Friday night though. Very tired now.

Huge contrast tonight between two particular patients. One was an incredibly good-looking man, one was the worst-smelling person I've ever encountered.

Chesty McProud kept his upper body bare for the entire evening to the delight of certain staff members. Stanky Von Greazy's foul odor seeped out of his room to the horror of all who walked by.

Chesty apparently takes the time to shave his entire body. Stubble was noted on his chest, foot, and the backs of fingers. Stanky can't be bothered with even rudimentary washing up. His blue jeans were in fact brown and shiny from dirt and body oil.

Chesty was a little flirtacious once the pain meds kicked in. Stanky, not mentally ill, thought his lack of hygiene was funny.

Chesty would be paid well as a model. Stanky could be well-compensated by the smelling salts industry if he could figure out how to bottle his odor, particularly the vile reek of his feet. Seriously y'all, like a vat of warm cat shit.

Out of the mouths of prisoners

Occasionally at the hospital, we get people under arrest as patients. Sometimes they get hurt fighting, sometimes they suddenly get sick when the cuffs go on, and sometimes they're just drunk off their ass.

Regardless of the situation, by and large, they are an uncoopertive lot. This often amuses the hell out of me as the medical staff and police officers have a withering "seen it, not impressed" attitude with regards to the more surly of these patients. A few examples:

As part of my job, I put ID bands on patients. When I put one on this particular patient already in handcuffs, he turns to the arresting officer and says, "Now that's what I call loose."



Another part of my job is having patients sign paperwork. An intoxicated gentleman handcuffed to a gurney gamefully provides his info as he munches on a sandwich but when it comes time to sign, he balks, complaining about being cuffed to the bed. I have better things to do than argue with him (whether he signs or not, he's going to be treated and charged for it), so I leave. As I walk down the hall, I hear the arresting officer's voice fading out, "Why did you have to be so mean? These people are trying to help you and you just..."

It cracked me up because I knew the officer was just messing with the guy.



A nurse is asking a patient whose just been picked up on a warrant about his medical history.
"Do you have a history of heart disease?"
"Yes."
"Diabetes?"
"Yes."
"Asthma?"
"Yes."
"You have all these things?" the nurse asks, incredulous.
"Yes, I'm very sick," the patient says calmly.
"Do you have gout?"
"Yes."
"What is it then?
Pause. "I don't know, but I got it!"



A young, trying-to-be-tough guy is sitting on a gurney waiting for his head to get stitched up. He's been monosyllabic and surly the whole time, and now an officer is quietly talking to him. In the course of my work, I walk by the bed many times and I notice the kid's ducking his head down. After a while, I walk by again and he's clearly been crying.

I never heard what the officer said, but from the look on his face, I like to think that he was doing his best to show the kid the error of his ways and the benefit of non-criminal behavior. Though, maybe he was scaring the hell out of him with tales of prison rape.



A ER tech that clearly works out often was having a disagreement with a substance abusing patient who offered this gem, "I might do crack, you big asshole, but you do steroids."

That's not a spider bite

From the number of complaints, one would think that the spiders of Texas have begun a guerilla war against humanity. At least once a week there's someone in the ER pointing at a swollen, red bump as evidence of a spider bite. The thing is, it's not a spider bite. It's an abscess, a localized accumulation of pus due to infection, most commonly by Staphylococcus aureus (sometimes called golden staph).


At any time, about a quarter of the population has it on their skin. Fortunately, skin is a good barrier to infection. In people with an abscess, they had a cut or puncture, didn't keep it clean, and an infection developed. Often breaking the skin is accidental. Sometimes it's on purpose. For instance, skin-popping heroin with a dirty needle.

The abscess is actually beneficial in that it walls off the infection, slowing its spread. Still, it's rather nasty. Thankfully the infection usually responds well to first-line antibiotics. I say usually because strains of antibiotic-resistant Staphylococcus aureus that previously were seen almost exclusively in hospitals and nursing homes among the already ill are showing up in the otherwise healthy general population. Called community-associated methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus (CA-MRSA), it's a growing problem (geez that's a terrible pun). Articles about CA-MRSA can be found here and here. The Centers for Disease Control has an information page as well.

Now that we have the public health lesson out the way, let's move on to an admittedly extreme case of mistaken "spider bite" self-diagnosis.

A woman I'll call Carla came in saying she had been bitten on the ass by a brown recluse. Brown recluses do live in Texas, but they rarely bite people, and their bite doesn't look like what Carla described (and presumably what the triage nurse saw). For the curious, here's a description of a real bite.

What Carla actually had was an abscess. When she found out she wouldn't be immediately whisked in to see a doctor, out came the attitude,

"But I was bitten by a brown recluse spider. That's serious."

How she felt qualified to make such a specific diagnosis is beyond me. She sure didn't give the impression of being an arachnologist. Truth be told, ER docs often misdiagnose brown recluse bites as well, but at least they went to medical school.

After enduring a third round of complaints about her "dangerous" condition, the terrible pain when she sat down, and that *gasp* other people were being seen before her, I longed to say,

"Sweetie, you weren't bitten by a brown recluse or any other kind of spider. You have a local bacterial infection. It's not an emergency. Sit, stand, whatever. You're going to have to wait like all the other non-emergency patients. Next time, wash your ass better."

Of course what I actually said was, "Mmm. Unfortunately there is a wait."

The lesson here is that if you somehow break the skin, wash the area well with soap and water, bandage it, and keep it clean. For all my IV drug-using readers, here's some valuable information. For the rest of you, here's a bizarre little illustration from the Tacoma/Pierce County Health Department that accompanies their page on CA-MRSA.



Technorati tags: spider bite, abscess, MRSA

No Red Cross for me

You may recall what the back of my head looked like for a couple weeks in March. Well now I'm rather peeved at the Red Cross.

The policy has been in place for a couple years now, but I just became aware that they require both employees and volunteers to sign confidentiality agreements that also state that Red Cross owns the intellectual property produced by employees and volunteers during their time of service and for a year afterwards. So if I volunteered for them and wrote about any element of my experience, Red Cross would own it.

Guess I won't be volunteering for them.


Technorati tags: Red Cross, intellectual property

Hey, let's get the police involved

Steadily busy evening at work. I missed the excitement earlier in the day when a patient had to be subdued by something like eight people, security and medical staff. The patient apologized later. How decent of them.

Right before I left, I heard a visiting cop citing examples of the incredibly silly things he's "investigated". For instance, the time he responded to a call at a house and arrived to find a large group of people watching TV, eating, just generally hanging out. The officer couldn't indentify who had called or exactly what the call was about. Finally, a woman pulled him aside and said she had called because, "That guy over there keeps looking at me."

The best story though was the time he responded to a domestic disturbance call. When he arrived at the house, the "disturbance" was an 18-month-old crying. The kid's parents had called 911 because their child was crying non-stop and upsetting them. Your tax dollars at work.


Technorati tags: domestic disturbance

What choo readin' for?

Excuse me while I descend into a bit of here's-what-I-did blah blah and some bitching (also known as angry whining). Skip this entry if you find that unpalatable, which I totally understand.

I went to Half Price Books on Sunday to look for a copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, having just seen the movie. It's been a decade or more since I read the series and wanted to delve back into it. The movie was okay, not bad, not great. My enjoyment of it was compromised somewhat by the man beside me about whom I almost wrote a blog entry entitled: Open letter to the man next to me at the movie theater who paid $6 to see The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and then slept through most of it occasionally snoring.

I didn't find a copy of the book at Half Price, but I did get a several other items, an inevitable occurence whenever I go there. The real find was a first printing of Steel Beach that is signed and not personalized. Steel Beach is one of my favorite novels, science fiction or otherwise, so I was/am very happy about scoring it for a decent price.

I also picked up a paperback copy of Carrion Comfort, an epic horror novel that I've been wanting to re-read (I've been on a re-reading kick of late). Yesterday I brought it to work to read during my lunch break and accidentally left it under the desk when I rushed off to see a midnight screening of Batman Begins, which was ultimately disappointing. The acting and production design are nifty, but it has problems with pacing and a third act that devolves into lazy action movie cliches. The last half hour bored the hell out of me. I'm sure there will be many complaints about the "slow start", but I found these scenes explaining the origin of Batman to be the best part of the movie.

Got a little off-track there. Anyway, I left my book at work last night and when I went back today, couldn't find it. I looked under the desk, in the waiting room, and checked the lending library in the break room. Nothing. Polled my co-workers, nobody had seen it. Then I asked someone on the shift after mine. The conversation went something like this,

Me: Hey ___, did you see a paperback book last night? I left it under the desk.

Inconsiderate Cretin: Oh, I think I threw that away.

Me: (stunned silence)

Inconsiderate Cretin: (blank expression)

Those who know me would unanimously agree that I am rarely at a loss for words, but there I was, speechless. The IC walked away and I stood there for a moment trying to wrap my head around this turn of events.

The book was in decent condition. It had a receipt from two days before as a bookmark. We have lots of donated books in the waiting room and employee lending library. To quote a considerate, non-cretinous co-worker, "Who throws a book away?"

Apparently inconsiderate cretins do.

Often, the IC asks me if I'm going to stay after my shift and work overtime. When I do, it makes the IC's job easier. The IC did not ask me tonight, probably clued in to how truly peeved I was by other employees. If the IC ever asks me again to help the IC out, I will say, "Yeah, let's get to work tossing all those books and magazines piling up in the waiting room. Tsk. Reading. What's up with that?"

Oh Inconsiderate Cretin, you are officially on my shit list.

P.S. Thankfully, I found a dirt-cheap copy of the book on half.com and will be seeking renumeration from the IC.

Technorati tags: cretin, books, Batman Begins

How I should deal with cavemen

Ya know what urks me? When a guy I just met tries to "bond" with me by making lewd comments about women in the vicinity. First of all, how very lame, desperate, and (literally) sophomoric. Secondly, I'm rather gay.

Next time it happens, instead of the please-stop-grunt-and-glare I typically use, I'm going to say, "Totally dude, and check out that humpy paramedic. I'd sure like to ride his ass. Now let's spit and bump chests."

Slightly unsettling

So, out of nowhere, my post Our heroes will inevitably disappoint us was included in a blogscan compendium of disappointment. I feel distinctly odd about it. Not sure why.

Childbirth, vile fluids, and hookers

I worked another long "day" yesterday, 14 hours this time. Maybe I should take more time to see friends, the sun, and my laundry room, but then money I'm making now will allow me to afford tuition, books, rent, and food for the next two semesters of school.

We were short-staffed again, so I stayed at the triage check-in desk and saw nine L&Ds (ladies in labor) in five hours. That's rather higher than usual. The tsk-tsk award of the night went to the soon-to-be-mom who'd had zero pre-natal care, which is free in Austin. Sigh.

The best part of the night was when the waiting room had been cleared out and some nurses were trading stories with an EMS guy. The subject of chest tubes came up. The EMS guy was saying how he had thought that inserting them was a delicate process, but then he saw a doctor jamming one in. One of the nurses confirmed that it was indeed a quick-and-dirty affair before telling us about the time she saw a late-stage cancer patient get one. When it was inserted, voluminous pus spewed out and it did not smell good. The EMS guy came right back with the time his partner had put a gastric tube down a guy and chili shot out all over the inside of their ambulance.

Then I starting eating my tuna sandwich. Yet more evidence that the ER is a great fit for me. Discussion of foul liquids and I can still eat heartily.

Sometime around 3 AM, I was talking with one of the police officers who moonlight as security for the ER. We were talking about bullet wounds and he showed me the bullets that the APD uses. They're designed to mushroom on impact so that they'll damage the person they hit, but won't go through them and hit someone else. Just talking about it made me antsy. I'm more suited to fixing gunshot wounds than causing them.

Finally, the quote of the evening was from the same police officer re: the quality of Austin prostitutes, "If she's a healthy ho, she's an undercover cop."

Technorati tags: chest tubes, hos

A 14.5 hour workday, in three parts

I didn't intend to, but I just finished a 14 and 1/2 hour shift. My day-and-night can be broken up into three sections with wildly different moods.

Part I: 3 to 11 PM

I worked the triage desk where you see it all. I generally try to maintain a friendly and helpful manner, but today was supa-busy and I was a hard-ass. After essentially hearing, "Did they call my name? I was wandering around even though I am supposedly in pain," for the fifth time, my response became, "You need to listen for your name, we can't chase you down."

The wait time was long and wasn't helped by the number of people coming in by ambulance who bumped everyone in the waiting room down. Overall there wasn't anything that remarkable in terms of complaints, mostly the usual top five: abdominal pain, vomiting, laceration, abscess, vaginal bleeding.

Near 11, a man comes into the ER saying there's someone outside who may not be breathing. The nurses hustle outside with Security and they bring in the patient on a gurney. Wow, excitement!

Turns out she's breathing fine and faking being unconscious. Here's a hint, to pull that off you need to keep your legs still. A nurse waves an ammonia capsule under her nose for a good 20 seconds and the patient does an admirable job of pretending not to smell it. Finally gets to her though and she rears up coughing. Turns out she's likely having a self-induced anxiety attack. It's actually quite easy to make your body freak out. Hyperventilating on purpose will do the trick nicely.

A nurse sits in a waiting room chair with a paper bag to breathe into (yes, that actually works), but as soon as the nurse walks off, she stops holding it tightly to her face and speeds up her breathing. When the patient sees that we're watching her, she starts coughing. After the third such performance, one of the Security guys holds up a piece of paper so only we at the desk can read it. It says 3.50.

I know all that sounds rather callous, but we really have better things to do. Like, oh I don't know, helping people with real problems? I'm fairly green about these things and so followed the lead of the experienced staff.

Part II: 11 PM to 2 AM

I stayed late to help out since we were shorthanded and switched over to working the pediatric ER. It was enjoyably slow and I only registered a few patients. Even when they're sick, the kids can be unbearably cute.

One of my co-workers was sick and I convinced her to go home since we were so slow. Then I read most of a Calvin and Hobbes book. Time crawled on.

Part III: 2 AM to 4:30 AM

Three kids came into the ER. One was sick. One had attempted suicide. One had been sexually assaulted.


That was my 14.5 hour day. I should get to sleep. Got to be back at work at three today, but I don't think sleep is going to come soon.

Director's Cut of Got my freak on, got my geek on

After a decent amount of sleep and no longer sore gluteus maximi, I can give a more complete and rational recollection of my Saturday-into-Sunday activities.

Several weeks ago, JenK alerted me and a number of our friends that the Alamo Drafthouse would be hosting a Freaks and Geeks marathon with cast members in attendance. The Alamo has done things similar to this before and I'd always passed on going. After a successful garage sale, JenK, John, Tina, and I were flush with cash and dreams of meeting Bill. Tickets were bought and anticipation grew.

Starting at noon Saturday and going till 5 AM Sunday, we were awash in that rare substance, television goodness. And I got thrill every time "Bad Reputation" kicked in.

Watching hours of a really good show does something to me. I care more deeply about the characters than I did when I only saw them once a week. Combine that with sleep deprivation and I got practically weepy by the end of it all. Damn but it's a good show and anyone who scoffs at the idea that a television show can be art is dumb and mean and I don't like them.

After eight or so hours, we broke off watching episodes for the Q&A. In attendance were Martin Starr (Bill Haverchuck), Sarah Hagan (Millie), Steve Bannos (Mr. Kowchevski), Stephen Lea Sheppard (Harris), and Dave 'Gruber' Allen (Mr. Rosso). Messrs. Bannos and Allen were the most effusive and excited which I chalk up to them being older and more appreciative. Bannos was also a writer on the show so he had more insight. Only two questions in and we were heard the terrible news of how the show was cancelled soon after creator Paul Feig's mother died. What a double gut punch that must have been.

It was an odd Q&A in that the answers were a mixture of interesting stories, professional struggles, wistfulness, and honesty. These are not actors that have been coached by handlers and there were consequent uncomfortable moments that, now that I think about it, perfectly complement a show full of such moments. Just a few totally obsessive tidbits that aren't in the extensive DVD features:

- If an actor made a mistake like bumping into something or dropping a prop, that's the take that inevitably was used

- Lea Sheppard (Harris) went to an audition just to accompany a friend and after being encouraged to audition, Paul Feig wrote a new part just for him

- Sarah Hagan (Millie) actually learned how to play "Jesus Is Just Alright With Me" on the piano for the "Beers and Weirs" episode, but for the filming they muted the piano and had a professional playing it off-camera

- Martin Starr (Bill Haverchuck) aspires to being a poet and treated us to a pretty decent flow

After the Q&A they signed autographs and chatted with the fans, which was nice. I was wearing my Devo t-shirt and it turns out that Steve Bannos is an acquaintance of Mark Mothersbaugh. Cool. Also, Martin Starr didn't know who Devo was and so wrote a note to himself which read "Listen to DEVO". Double cool. Then, weirdly, Sarah Hagan told me that she'd just played a character on Grey's Anatomy named Devo Friedman. Huh.

After the Q&A, the audience shrank somewhat and we watched on. We'd break every three or hours and by the end, only a quarter of the audience was left and I was sad that it was over and happy that even existed. My butt was sore, I had consumed the meat of three kinds of animal, and had spent much hard-earned money on food and drink, but I was elated as Tina, John, and I walked out into the still-dark morning. Sure, aside from the actors, I could have hosted a marathon at my house, but there was something special about watching it in a theater with an audience of fellow freaks and geeks.

UPDATE:

Here's a review of sorts printed in The Austin Chronicle.

Donorcycle weekend

This weekend is the R.O.T. rally which means lots of Harleys in town and lots of ER visits for stoopid bikers mostly without helmets (hence organ donors). I worked a 12.5 hour shift last night/this morning and we had two already. Tomorrow night will likely be worse.

Really wish I could blow up a picture of a biker with a caved-in skull and parade that up and down Congress Ave this weekend. Probably wouldn't do any good.

Are you sure that's what's wrong with you?

Sparked by an incident that happened tonight, I polled some of my co-workers and found that sometimes patients don't exactly tell the truth when the ER triage nurse asks them what's wrong. Later, when the doctor sees them, they confess the real problem. So, back pain becomes rectal bleeding, headache becomes viscous fluid dripping from the penis, and the one that started this whole exploration, rapid weight loss becomes cocaine indulgence.

Sometimes though, they never fess up to what's wrong with them. Say for instance when they get arrested and a cop brings them in because their pulse is sky high. Handcuffed to the gurney, they'll deny any illegal drug use because the arresting officer is standing there. Asshat, the tox screen is going to be positive for coke or meth or whatever, quit dicking around and tell the doctor what you did so s/he can make sure you don't die. That happened twice tonight.

One of the guys loudly complained that his rights were being violated and he wanted his lawyer until a nurse told him, "Sir, this is a hospital and there are sick people here who don't want to hear about your personal problems." He continued to complain, but at a more reasonable volume. Then a clinical assistant needed to get his temperature. The patient wasn't cooperating so the CA says, "I'm going to take your temperature, orally or rectally. Your choice." Patient's mouth pops open. I almost sniggered.

Clearly he wasn't going to answer my registration questions so I left about the time he started promising lawsuits against the police, doctors, nurses, really anyone in visual range.

Interesting sidenote, if you're arrested for public intoxication and the cops bring you to the hospital, you can't refuse treatment.

The ski accident thing

Tonight a guy came in who was hit in the face with a waterski which split his upper lip completely open from the nose down. Being around the medical staff as they were treating him made me realize that I'm on the right track, I really do want to work in Trauma/ER. And yes, he'll be fine.

The stem cell thing

I want every person who is against the use of stem cells in research to sign a binding pledge that they will never take advantage of any benefits that result from such study and if they do, they have to go on national television and admit that they are gigantic hypocrites who will now and forever more stop imposing their supposed superior morality on everyone around them. Hmph.

The Deepthroat thing

Here's my poorly thought out immediate reaction:

Felt was passed over by Nixon for the FBI directorship. If he had been appointed for the position, would he have leaked the information?

Also, this guy was convicted in the '70s for authorizing illegal break-ins to the homes of people suspected of supporting the Weather Underground. Then Reagan pardoned him.

Whoo-hoo, what a "hero".

She probably just wanted a ride to Austin

Tonight I started to register a patient that might have had tuberculosis, or maybe just asthma. "Nancy" had come from Lockhart on an ambulance and a paramedic began to doubt her motives when she hopped out of the ambulance when it arrived at the hospital and began walking away. Guided inside, she was apparently a bit surly. After getting her into the system, but before going through the complete registration process, I guess Nancy decided to get aggressive with a nurse and walked out. The staff called security and the resolution is that I didn't have to be possibly exposed to TB.

Yay! No consumption for St. Murse.

*grumble* alcohol *grumble* MVAs *grumble*

Ratzafraggin people. I am in a foul mood because the ER was crammed all evening. Lots of alcohol-related car and boat accidents. Remind me why alcohol is legal and other drugs are not?

Ennui abatement

A person I know, let's called him Kangaroone, is presently experiencing a trough in the waveform of life. Having gone through several of these myself, I thought I might help by suggesting things that have helped me feel better, however temporarily:

- Coffee

- Indulging a bit by listening to The Smiths or The Cure, but then forcing myself to listen to They Might Be Giants or The B-52s

- Not staying inside with the blinds drawn

- Really good mac & cheese

- Swimming/tubing down a river with friends

- Orgasms

- Re-reading Bridge to Terabithia

- Taking a dog for a walk

- Helping someone else

Our heroes will inevitably disappoint us

I experienced a massive disconnect the other day while watching a trailer for Herbie: Fully Loaded, a movie that I can't conceive of being any good. This is party because it's a remake of a movie from the days when Disney pumped out crappy live action movies (often starring Dean Jones), but mostly because it's about a self-aware car that doesn't kill people.

Anyway, I habitually scan the credits of trailers for the writer & director of the movie. It sometimes helps to evaluate the potential of the film. I've done it for so long that I usually can lock onto the names even if the credits barely flashes on the screen. I was sneering through the Herbie trailer when it ended and I said to myself, "I can't believe this is happening again." See, the movie is written (at least in part) by Thomas Lennon & Ben Garant. I love these guys. They wrote and performed in The State and now, Reno 911, two great, funny shows.

Lennon & Garant came to Austin years ago with most of the other members of The State to perform at the late, lamented Big Stinkin' Improv Festival. I got my copy of the ridiculously useless travel guide State by State with The State signed and then saw them perform that night. At one point, the troupe moved off the stage, ostensibly to change costumes, while member Ken Marino stayed behind and chatted with the audience. Instead of leaving the stage though, the performers stopped and starting taking off their clothes down to their underwear, all while Marino continued to obliviously talk about...something, but at this point who was paying attention to him?

While the near-naked members ambled about, quietly talking amongst themselves, Marino pulled out a disposable camera and encouraged the audience to squeeze in so he could take a picture. At the count of three, he snapped the picture and on the other side of the stage, the underwear came off. Despite the long set-up, it was still a surprise. I doubt the Paramount Theater will ever again have so much exposed genitalia again. At the time I distinctly remember thinking, "Dang. The one guy I've wanted to see naked is the only one who isn't. Dang." Still, hilarious. The crowd went nuts crazy. There were more than a few people with videocameras in the audience, so if anyone has access to a recording of it, please let me know.



Getting back to the point, I was stunned to see Lennon & Garant at least partially responsible for Herbie because it continues a frighteningly trend. These guys are also credited writers for The Pacifier and Taxi. When I saw that they'd writen The Pacifier, I convinced myself that they had authored a subversive movie that was taken away and dumbed down by the studio. Clearly I was fooling myself. I'm sure they made good money, but guys, I beg of you, stop writing vehicles for the likes of Lindsay Lohan, Vin Diesel, and Jimmy Fallon.

Hmm, I meant for this to be a thoughtful argument for smart, small comedy over bland, lowest-common-denominator crap, but it seems to have gotten away from me. Oh well.

And the hits keep on coming

I told myself that I needed to mix it up a little bit and not just post about the hospital, but then things happen there about which I need to write (with proper grammar apparently).

Today a woman who I will call Donna saunters in and with an incredibly bored voice says to me, "I need to see a doctor, I feel like I'm gonna die." Wow, sure sounds like it. She repeats this to the triage nurse with no urgency, pain, or anxiety in her attitude at all. The nurse is awesome though and says, "Can you be more specific about why you think that?" Clearly nobody is buying her story and Donna drops the "I'm gonna die" thing.

This is everyday occurence in the ER, people whose complaints are out of proportion to their problem. There's also guys who maintain a steely exterior when they've got to be hurting badly, but they're a minority. One of the things that medical staff ask patients is to rate their pain on a scale from one to ten with ten being the worst pain they can imagine. It's annoying to the nurses and doctors when patients immediately and casually say, "Ten," while smacking their gum.

After waiting a couple hours, which is really not a long wait for minor problems in an ER, Donna tells me she's going to leave because she doesn't want to miss her bus. I didn't, but I longed to say, "Good luck with that dying thing."

The other noteworthy thing that happened today was a guy whose girlfriend hit him with a hammer. On the dick. Yeah.

He comes in, sees there are quite a few people around the triage desk, and says to the nurse, "I don't want to say it out loud." Quickly realizing that the nurse isn't going to lean in so he can whisper his problem, he says, "Uh, she wasn't quite Lorena Bobbitt." Gotta love a guy that maintains a sense of humor while wincing mightily from a smashed penis.

Black (metal) celebration

I forgot to write about this earlier, but some friends and I went to see Metal Storm: The Scandinavian Black Metal Wars last weekend. We were expecting a somewhat sardonic portrayal of these guys who play rawgrawgrawg music and paint their faces like melting Kiss dolls. What we got was a sober and depressing story of pointless rebellion, arson, and murder. There were a few funny bits, but mostly it was just sad how dumb and destructive these guys were.

Afterwards, in an effort to lighten the mood, I announced that Carole and I would be forming a black metal band named Milieu after the massive amount of times Norwegian journalists used the word in the film. Of course, our other two friends would form a rival band called Retinue (same reason). Then we would plot intricate schemes for destroying each other, only not really. From there we moved on to how other musical genres might settle the score. Daniel cracked us all up with a most dire twee threat, "I'll unravel your cardigan." Awesome.

Sadly, I just discovered that I missed an exhibit of black metal musician portraits that closed yesterday. Photographer Peter Beste has taken some great pictures that I find both scary and funny. I should stress that as far as I know the guys - and where are the black metal girls? - pictured haven't committed any crimes and probably are decent, law-abiding Satanists. Here's the poster from Beste's Austin show.

The kids are allright, well actually they all have a fever

I worked an extra shift tonight and did it in the pediatric ER, both for the first time. Sundays are slower than the rest of the week, but not by much. The pedi ER is mostly kids with fevers, abdominal pain, and the like. It's a lot of out-of-sorts children prone to crying when the nurses and doctors touch them. Of course, they get super-peeved when their blood is drawn.

I managed to stumble my way through registering a couple kids whose parents only spoke Spanish. They seemed relieved, possibly because I was making an effort, but more likely because it meant that soon the pestering white boy would leave the room. With time and practice I should improve. Then I can travel to Spanish-speaking countries and ask people for their Social Security numbers and whether they have Medicaid.

That's another thing. Most of the kids I saw tonight had Medicaid, which is great, but I think the reason they're in the ER for primary care is that there aren't enough pediatricians who take it. The lack of government-sponsored healthcare for everyone in the US is a massive issue for me. I could go on and on about this, but suffice to say that the haves not being able to be picky about their doctor so that the havenots can actually get medical care is an acceptable trade-off. Oh, and Canada rocks.

Moving on, I know I never want to work in labor & delivery, but working with kids in the ER might be cool. Sure they cry, but it's better than say a drunk guy with a gash on his head bellowing racial slurs.

New monkey!

Instead of sleeping in preparation for the garage sale tomorrow, I'm reading about a newly discovered species of monkey, the Highland Mangabey.



Sure it has lovely, fluffy fur, but the best part is that it honk-barks. Damn Wildlife Conservation Society for not having a sound clip. I need to know what a honk-bark sounds like.

Happy -> Sad

Fairly standard day at work, nothing out of the ordinary. I was pretty happy about the work week being over and then I saw this form

Burial/Lab Consent:
Under 20 Weeks Gestation

and I got bummed out.

Whew, busy busy evening

Very busy at work last night. Tons of patients and between 6 and 10 PM, we had 5 L&Ds. L&D is labor and delivery, also known as pregnant ladies about to pop.

*****

We see a lot of patients who only speak Spanish and I'm trying to recover some of mine from many years ago. A lot of the time I can formulate questions, I just wouldn't be able to understand the answer. So far I can ask and understand the response to, "Do you need a doctor?" and "Is this your first time here?" and "What's your name and date of birth?" It's going to be a while before I can understand what's wrong with them.

On the administrative side, I'm one of a very few white guys who doesn't speak Spanish. It's a hindrance to me, but I can always trade patients with a co-worker. The medical staff overwhelmingly doesn't and that can be a problem if there aren't enough translators around. I have to take a Spanish for Health Workers class for my degree, though I'd do it even if it wasn't required. I plan to move away from Texas after I graduate, but being passibly fluent in medical Spanish would be an asset anywhere.

*****

Tonight a married couple came in and first off the husband states his title rather than just say that his wife is ill. I'm not going to say the title or his field, but he's not an entertainer and this is the capital of Texas. That really bugged me for two reasons. First, we don't care what your job is, everybody is seen according to their medical needs. Second, how about telling us what's wrong with your wife first before throwing around your "weight"? Hmph.

The floor show

Last night a ka-rayzee woman came into the hosptial. I think she was a meth addict because she was twitchy, incredibly skinny, and her teeth were just pegs. She opened her mouth and a series of wildly disconnected phrases came out. Her main problem was her swollen foot, but there were clearly mental issues as well.

When asked her last name she said, "Doesn't matter. Whatever. I don't know." I really think she couldn't remember; meth tears up your memory something fierce. Not hoping for much, I asked for her social security number and she rattled it off without hesitation. The mind is a funny thing. Later she said to me, "I'm dead. I know they're carnivores." Oooo-kay.

I'm fairly confident that she was freaking out the other people in the waiting room with her pacing and non-sequiturs. After 30 minutes or so of that she walked to the middle of the room, and with great confidence and poise, threw off the blanket around her shoulders like James Brown doffing a cape. Then she pulled off her tank top. She was not wearing a bra. After a staffer got security's attention (the only person not staring in horror and amazement), the guard laconically said to the patient, "Hey, you can't do that." Really? Huh.

A nurse got her to put her top back on (backwards) and worked on getting her into a bed and away from an audience quicker. A man standing near my desk at the time said, "Let me know when it's decent," while staring off into the distance and clutching a Bible. It was safe by then so I told him, "You're good."

While this was by far the oddest thing that has happened so far at my job, I was relatively unfazed. And here I thought I was only jaded about music and movies.

An unfortunate method

Another hospital story:

Attempted suicide by nailgun. I saw the x-ray. It looked something like this, except through the side of the head.

And that's how your Grandma and I met

Another hospital story:

It seems that a woman owed money to her crack dealer and so paid off her debt by having sex with him. A totally acceptable transaction in the world of crack, I'm sure you're thinking. However, she neglected to remove her tampon beforehand and came to the hospital after having had it lodged deep within for, wait for it, three days. After it was, erm, extracted, she was waiting by the payment office when she started flirting with a guy also waiting. Upon seeing what was going on, an employee in the know attempted to covertly throw "Dude, no" looks at the guy without success. Ahh young love.

Sugar and caffeine, therefore twitching

This post reminded me of the summer I worked at a movie theater. On commercial fountain drink machines, you can slide up the piece of plastic with the drink labels to reveal two tabs. Push one and it dispenses carbonated water to clear out syrup. Push the other tab and it triggers carbonated water and syrup. One day, I discovered that pushing on the "both" tab and pulling back on the carbonated water tab caused only syrup to be dispensed. Two seconds later, I had created what I called a Double Coke; a Coke with roughly twice the syrup.

The night I stumbled upon this was a Thursday. On Thursday nights we stayed late to watch the movies that were going to start on Friday. This was mostly for fun, but also to make sure the movies had been built up right.

See movies are split up into about five reels and shipped to theaters in metal cannisters. Then, in a modern theater, a projectionist splices the reels together on a big metal platter from which the film unspools as it is projected. Sometimes the projectionist makes a mistake though and splices a reel in upside down. So the movies have to be watched to detect such errors.

Usually the staff congregated in one theater for a particular movie. When this happened, the theater would pay one person to watch the other movies for mistakes. I was once paid to suffer through the awful Madonna vehicle Body of Evidence.

The night I created the Double Coke, a bunch of us decided to watch Super Mario Bros. For those of you who've blocked it out, in 1993 more than a few people decided that what audiences wanted was a live-action movie chronicling the adventures of Mario (Bob Hoskins) and Luigi (John Leguizamo) as they battled King Koopa (Dennis Hopper!) to rescue the Princess. They were extremely wrong and made a terrible, terrible movie directed by four different people, including Roland Joffe (The Killing Fields, The Mission).

Still, when you and your co-workers are all hopped up on Double Cokes, to the point where your hands twitch, Super Mario Bros. is hilarious. Almost as much as Cop and a Half's infamous bathroom "swordfight" almost-scene between Burt Reynolds and a small black child.

Reality

After working tonight, I no longer associate the phrase "GSW to the head" with movies and TV shows.

A tale from the psych ward

Despite striking out on my own at work rather than follow other employees around like a puppy, it was a fairly unremarkable evening. So, I'll tell a story I heard from one of my professors.

Dr. C was a student nurse at the time and was working on the psych ward. She and her fellow students heard a patient down the hall start yelling. All the other students ran the other way, but Dr. C responsibly (and bravely) marched down the hall to the patient's room.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yes!" he shouted, "Get in this bed and fuck me!"

"I'm sorry sir, that's not within my duties," she stated with great aplomb, "Is there any other way I can help you?"

Without hesitation he responded, "Yes, I would like some juice."

I've boingboinged

I submitted an offering to boingboing today and it was published. Cool.

My first day at work

After rocking my chemistry final this afternoon and securing an A for the class, I reported to the hospital for my first day of work. Nothing in particular to report, but here's some quick impressions:

- Patients with less teeth than expected

- Hot cops

- The quiet click of handcuffs

- Frantic, pained, and then relieved looks on faces

- The volatile smell of isopropyl alcohol

- Waiting for something to happen

Just so you know, it would be both unethical and illegal for me to relate specific stories of patients or staff. As a result, any tales I tell here will be somewhat vague and sufficiently obfuscated.

ACL lineup is available!

The Austin City Limits Festival lineup is out!

Built to Spill! The Decemberists! Mouse on Mars! M83!! Arcade Fire!!! Awgh, yes, exclamation points. Seriously, I'm thrilled. Sure it will be hot and there will be too many people, but it's all worth it for three days of great music in my home town.

While I'm mostly pumped about the smaller acts, the headliners are pretty decent this year: Wilco (apparently a permanent fixture), John Prine, Lyle Lovett, and Jimmy Cliff(?!). Not so much thrilled about The Allman Brothers Band, Black Crowes, Oasis, or Widespread Panic (gag). You take the bad with the good. Like the chatterchairs.

Sick, again

Lack of sleep caught up with me again and I got sick Friday. Dragged myself to class to take a couple quizzes and then tried to Nyquil (actually store brand) myself well. Didn't work and I got a sinus infection and a middle ear infection. Thank your lucky stars that I don't have a digital camera or else there would be a grody picture of the orange blob that came out of my nose on Saturday afternoon. Didn't get any studying done over the weekend and can now appreciate how awful sinus pressure headaches are.

I'm on super-sudafed and an antibiotic now. Probably not going to do well on my four exams this week as I'm spacey and tired. Great timing. Fuck.